


The Lake McDonald Investigation

by Cuda (Scylla)



Category: Supernatural, Superwood - Fandom, Torchwood
Genre: Jealous Dean, M/M, Monster of the Week, Pre-Series Jack, Season 4 Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 19:50:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4150620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scylla/pseuds/Cuda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Montana lake looks like it's been hit with a massive bath bomb, there's a body in a tub full of flowers in Kalispell, and the Winchesters are on the case. During the investigation, they're intercepted by an FBI agent who's the real deal - wait, is he? Either way, Dean's a couple bad decisions away from slipping this guy his number (or some tongue). And then... <s>the universal cock blocker</s> Castiel arrives.</p><p>Great.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lake McDonald Investigation

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt: "A little Superwood. Both sides come on into a case as the FBI. A lot of flirting between Jack and Dean. Then Cas shows up and knows Jack. I want to see a Jealous!Dean."

Dean stood at the edge of a Montana lake, a fine screen of snow separating him from Sam. He could hear his brother's voice in the parking lot a few yards away, but couldn't drag his attention from the scene.

Lake McDonald puckered at the edges with snow. Beyond that though, it was open water, steaming with heat in the frigid morning air. Dean squatted, picked up a stone from the pebbly beach, and chucked it out into the water. It vanished with a hollow _plip_ , spraying droplets on the thick mat of water lilies that filled the lake. The heat raised a fog in the cold air. Soon he wouldn't be able to see Sam at all, snow or no snow.

What the hell, Dean thought. He watched the flowers tremble on the surface, and when they stilled he checked the temperature on his phone. It was October in Montana, which put the morning at a frosty twenty-eight degrees, Fahrenheit. Dean was no botanist, but even he knew lily pads didn't belong this far north, let alone blooming in October in the snow.

"Right, thanks for the update Katelynn," Sam finished. When Dean could hear the footsteps coming on behind him, he stood up. Sam had been on the phone with one of the local rangers. The national parks were pretty much overrun with supernatural critters, which meant that between the calls for werewolves and Bigfoot sightings, vampire nests and forest deities, hunters and park rangers struck up a symbiotic relationship. Hunters kept (most of) the campers alive and, well, happy campers. In return, rangers made sure hunters had what they needed and were bothered as little as possible. Oh sure, there were douchebags - there were always douchebags. Ranger Katelynn definitely did not fall into the douchebag category.

He was definitely not thinking about Ranger Katelynn's butt when Sam arrived.

Sam shook his head and spread his hands. "Nobody's missing, so that's good. Kat says, couple rangers making the rounds this morning found the lake like this."

Dean squinted at Sam through the snow and burgeoning fog. "And by 'this,' they mean bathwater warm and full of lily pads?"

Sam's lips thinned. "You put your _hands_ in it?"

"No," Dean retorted in disgust, "I like my internal organs where they are, thanks. Look at the steam coming off the surface."

Sam looked, and his eyebrows hiked at the thick fog. "Whatever it is, we don't wanna be hunting it in this."

"You think this might be related to the Kalispell case?"

Sam shrugged. "I think it's a hell of a coincidence if not."

"You'd be right," a third voice came from the shoreline a few feet away.

Dean and Sam looked left to spot a stranger in a heavy wool coat, larger than life and impervious to the cold and snow. He came a few steps closer, and flashed them a movie star smile. "Sorry about that, couldn't resist eavesdropping. Jim Corrigan, FBI." He offered a hand in lieu of a badge.

Dean took it, surprised at the calluses he encountered on the stranger's warm palm. Sky blue eyes looked him over with frank curiosity, making him acutely aware of his cheap suit and cold-reddened cheeks. Shit, he thought, how the hell did the actual FBI get out here so fast?

"Pretty quick response from Washington," Sam said, reaching out for his own handshake from the interloper, "the park service let us know you were on your way. Frank Buchholz, FBI. Nice to see a friendly face in the field."

Oh, brilliant Sammy, Dean thought with relief.

"I was in the area," the stranger smiled again, and now the movie star grin had a little more shark than Shatner. He looked them up and down, tipping his head. "Don't remember seeing you boys by the water cooler."

"I don't think we've had a water cooler since the Seventies," Dean countered, breathing out the tension that stiffened up his shoulders.

The stranger tossed them a shrewd look. "And I don't think you two were born in the seventies."

"Got me there, Jim. Rudy Schenker, class of 2001," Dean volunteered with an easy smile. He gestured to Sam, "But he's old for his looks. Like, ancient."

"Stress," Sam explained, exasperated, "it's a killer."

'Jim' looked on in amusement. "You think the Kalispell case might be related to this one; I think you're right." He pushed his hands in his pockets and turned to look at the lake, drawing Dean's attention to the pale blue stripes on the epaulets of his coat - definitely not standard federal issue. "The flowers around the body in the tub were of the same origin."

Dean followed his gaze. "That's a little broad," he argued, "these things are all over the midwest."

"Try far east," the stranger corrected, "these aren't water lilies. They're lotus flowers."

"Sounds like you've got a theory," Sam blew on his hands and rubbed them together. His breath vanished into the fog. The snow, at least, had tapered off.

'Jim' shrugged. "Still putting things together. How about you?"

"We uh," Dean started, trying to shake his brain awake against the cold, "we were about to do a perimeter sweep of the lake, see if we can find any evidence of where these came from. I mean, a lake full of - lotus flowers, you said?"

"I did."

"Right. So a lake full of flowers doesn't just appear out of thin air."

"Depends on your security clearance," the stranger said with a shrug. Dean stared. He glanced at Sam, who was doing the same.

'Jim' waved them off. "don't let me keep you. That fog will be pea soup until the sun burns off some of these clouds."

Dean signaled Sam to fall back, and moved to do the same. 'Level of security clearance'? What the fuck did THAT mean? Curiosity got the better of him, and he looked back at the stranger. "You coming with, Agent Corrigan?"

"Didn't realize it was an invitation," the stranger smiled, falling in step with Dean, "Call me Jim. We're all brothers in the bureau, right?"

Brothers. Right.

The three of them circled the lake as the sun climbed higher, breaking free of the dense cloud cover by nine or ten. As the increasing temperature pushed away the fog, Dean began to see the forest on the opposite edge of the lake, then the hard edged mountains beyond. This time of year, the oaks and maples in the valley slithered into their little red numbers, and Lake McDonald was a perfect postcard of the Rockies. Except for the lotus blossoms and the thick mat of round green leaves.

"Pretty day for a perimeter sweep," Jim said, "it was so gray this morning, I felt almost homesick."

Dean looked up from his scan of the shoreline. The rocks ruined any chance for footprints, dammit. "Home being where, Seattle?"

Jim laughed. "Good guess. I've got a little place there, right on the bay. Nice views, close to a couple good coffee shops. Huge basement."

Dean swung his arms over his head, working some heat under his cold skin. "Sounds like paradise," he said, and found himself trying to imagine what that 'nice little place' might be like. Snap out of it, Dean.

With a shrug, Jim shook his head. He swept open the front of his coat and pushed his hands into his pants pockets, giving Dean a better view of his long legs. Jim had an easy way of going, like a cocky horse, or a hunting hound. He knew his own value, and he didn't mind sharing it. "It's a mess right now - needs a complete rebuild since New Year's. I spend too much time there," Jim said, "I'd rather be out in the field. It gets lonely, these days."

"Brother, I get that," Dean squeezed Jim's shoulder before he really thought about it, "Me and-- me and Frank, the field's where we belong." He nodded out towards Sam, who was a dozen yards ahead, working his way around a massive glacial boulder blocking the shore.

"How long have you two been together?" Jim asked.

"Birth, practically," Dean answered with a grin. "Feels that way."

Jim laughed. He had a really nice laugh, Dean thought; inviting. In fact, there were all kinds of invitations being tossed around, all over the place, and Dean couldn't quite stop stealing looks Jim's way. And when the hell had he started calling this dude 'Jim' without the skepticism? Five more minutes and he'd be slipping Jim his number. Or slipping Jim some tongue. Thank God for Sam again, as his shout broke the moment before it descended into charged silence.

"Hey, you wanna see this!" Sam called, voice thinned by distance but clear. Jim and Dean broke into a jog to reach him.

When they got around the boulder, Dean's mouth fell open.

The forest had been cut wide open, a flattened path of trees and brush leading down to the shore like the aftermath of a tornado. The path continued up towards the mountains for a quarter mile, where it abruptly stopped.

"That's where it landed," Jim said. There was glee in his voice. _Glee_. Like he'd just scratched off a Lotto ticket for a couple grand.

"Where what landed?" Dean demanded. He looked out towards the lake again, and saw the rocky shore here was concave. Like something big and heavy - yeah, maybe _Lusitania_ level big and heavy - had been dragged down into the water.

"The water dragon," Castiel said, abruptly behind him.

Dean dodged hard right, adrenaline bitter on the back of his tongue. " _Jesus_ , Cas!"

He hadn't called for Castiel, what was he doing here? And what was he doing standing so close to Jim? Hadn't they worked out the personal space thing?

Castiel and Jim turned to look at him, wry amusement on both faces. "I'm sorry, Dean," Castiel apologized, stepping away from the stranger now, "this case is more Jack's area of expertise, and he was in the area." He stood between Dean and 'Jim,' humor gone from his face as he smelled the metaphorical blood in the water. "This is Captain Jack Harkness. Jack--"

First names already? Dean snarled inwardly.

"--this is Dean and Sam Winchester."

"Yeah, I figured that out from the hair band aliases," Jack laughed, gesturing between the Winchesters, "big _Scorpions_ fans?"

Sam came abreast of Dean, his loyalty a soothing rock to lean against in the chaos. "So you knew who we were the whole time?" Sam demanded, glaring at Jack. His hands were at his sides, loose and open, which meant he was thinking as much about going for his gun as Dean was. "And you lied to us."

Jack shrugged. "If I said I'd been tipped off by Castiel, would that have made you trust me?" He glanced at Dean, and there was apology in his eyes.

"No," Dean snapped, taking cold pleasure from the hurt look on the angel's face at that, "But it would have been a start." And Dean was about to say something he'd probably regret. Maybe not a regret he'd ever verbalize, but definitely feel at night between cold sheets.

He didn't get the chance.

On the tail of Castiel's put-upon sigh, a massive gout of water sprayed onto the shore, as an iridescent scaly head the size of a sedan shot out of the lotus blossoms.

It was huge, it was fast, and - as they'd find out shortly - it was pissed they'd disturbed Date Night. A second head reared out of the water, and everyone scrambled for cover.

Everyone but Captain Jack fucking Harkness.

Dean spun around in time to see the man's (still damnably larger than life and fucking gorgeous) figure on the beachhead, a huge barrel-nosed pistol trained on the angry water dragons.

He fired four times. A double tap for each animal; _bang-bang, bang-bang_. Dean looked up at the dragons as they reared away, brightly colored feathered darts poking from their scaly necks.

Now Jack ran, along the curve of the beach, dodging the two animals' massive heads crashing to earth with a colossal splash. They lay in the shallows, slit-eyed and breathing slowly, water steaming around them.

Dean came out of the brush with Sam at his side, feeling superfluous and hating it. Plus, what the hell did Jack think they were supposed to do with sedated water dragons... call Animal Control?

Things got worse a minute later. Castiel slid an arm around Jack's neck, distracting the stranger from his cell phone.

They kissed.

Dean wanted to kill something. Possibly several things.

Beside him, Sam whuffed a surprised laugh.

"I know, right?" Dean spat, voice low to keep the vitriol between them.

Sam shook his his head. "No, not that. I mean, yeah, that, but I just realized - he's picking on us for rock band aliases? Dude, his name was _Jim Corrigan._ He's parading around pretending to be _The Spectre_. Hey, Dean? ...Dean? ...Dean! Where are you going?"


End file.
